


Hold You Here

by madamsledge



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established sexual tension, F/M, Liberty Pass, Pub Sex, Public Sex, World War II, pre-D Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 13:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20601821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamsledge/pseuds/madamsledge
Summary: Sobel doesn't give you many chances to get away with the guys on liberty passes, but when you finally do, the chemistry between you and Johnny finally culminates over a game of pool.





	Hold You Here

Chatter, wooden stools scraping against the floor, pool balls clacking together–familiar sounds, but you had never been to this particular pub before. Ordinarily, due to your commanding officer’s petty and obsessive need to control every speck of your time, you could not accept the invitations that were offered less and less, now. The more you tried to politely smile and say no, the more grumbles passed around that you may or may not be a frigid bitch too desperately in love with Sobel to take two steps away from him.

How the fuck had it come to this?

A few hours had passed since the others had arrived, but you could hear Skip’s voice, somewhere, clear above the din. Truthfully, you wouldn’t much consider yourself a pub person–very rarely did you drink, and being around large groups of people, especially strangers, made you nervous. Not afraid, just nervous. Since joining the Army and Airborne, your feelings of isolation and alienation from people in general had intensified–now that you were part of this elite group, relating to others or feeling that they could relate to you became more challenging.

Hell, relating to fellow members of this elite group, especially since arriving at Aldbourne, was disconcertingly difficult.

No more of that, you’d decided. A couple of hours late or not, here you were, not anywhere near Sobel, and ready to reconnect with mates you’d been missing, hoping they still cared enough to reconnect with you.

Beside an older gent chowing on pickled onions, you ordered a pint of stout from another older gent who didn’t exactly understand you and vice versa. Was it alarming no one had come up to talk to you yet? Had it really gotten so bad?

Okay, no, that was conceited. Wasn’t it? To think that not being immediately acknowledged by a bunch of your drunk mates scattered another a fairly large, dark, smokey pub meant they couldn’t stand you?

Like some sort of winged angel from above, there appeared Bull Randleman a cigar fuming between his knuckles and a glass of whiskey in his other hand. “Nice of you to join us, Y/N. We’re over yonder.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Socialisation was great. Not really, but sort of, at least offering a bridge between yourself and those at the booth. Smokey and Grant sat on one side with you and Randleman at the other. A large part of you suspected that your hair was going to smell like Bull’s cigar smoke for the rest of your life, but the part of you that wanted to fit in again didn’t give a shit. Your glass was getting empty, however, your nerves a bit chafed, and your bladder undeniably full. After Bull’s story of white water rafting, you quietly excused yourself.

The restrooms in British pubs were an absolute nightmare.

After escaping that particular traumatising experience, you decided to stretch your legs. The lads would get on fine without you, no hurry. You looked around as you strolled and nodded here and there at faces that seemed generally happy to see you–Malarkey even came up and gave you a kiss on the cheek before being chased away by a very irate Irish woman.

These men really did lead lives of adventure.

Off in a lonely corner of the pub there was an enormous pool table, and, although you’d never played and weren’t familiar with the first thing about the game, other than poking balls with sticks, you gravitated towards it. Fresh mug of stout in hand, you approached the billiard area slowly, quietly, unsure if anyone had already claimed it.

The water rings along its wooden frame were so numerous and layered as to give away the true age of the table. The green felt was incredibly worn as well, and you could practically see, through the stains on it, all the laughs that had been shared and the money lost whilst standing around it. You smiled and ran your fingers along the old wood grain, then noticed a sweating glass and an ashtray with a smoking cigarette resting on top.

“Looking a little lost there, Y/N.”

At once, your legs grew a little rubbery. John Martin stepped up to his place, plucked the cigarette up from the clay ashtray and inhaled, looking at you unwaveringly as he did.

In that small moment, you felt the wheels of fate turning and making themselves known. Both of you understood tonight was going to be the night.

Oh, it’d been building for a while, and already you were standing close to each other.

“Maybe I found just what I was looking for,” you said, but you couldn’t be entirely sure, because your voice had never sounded so confident and your word choices certainly not. Was it confident or hopelessly cheesy? Fuck it, he didn’t seem to mind.

Johnny was still eyeing you when he put the cigarette out, a bare hint of a smirk hiding on his lips. “Know your way around a pool table?”

“No, actually.” You blushed, then blushed more for having blushed. “I was just looking at–”

“Come here,” he said, lifting a pool stick and situating himself behind you. Very, very close behind you. Johnny leaned in, pushing you the same way, and guided your hands onto the cue just so.

Heart jumping, you pushed your hips gently back against his exactly as he made the shot he had lined up. The pool balls clacked together and rolled along the green felt, and Johnny left the cue in your hands.

His went down to your hips and gripped tightly. The eight ball hit the pocket at the same time that you felt his lips graze the nape of your neck, spreading chills. “Did you really want to go and do that, Y/N?”

You swallowed, stock still. “Y-yes.”

Johnny kissed the back of your neck, right above your collar. His hands dragged firmly, warmly, to the fronts of your thighs. He squeezed there, too. “Keep playing.”

“I don’t know how!” you cried.

“Ssh.” He bit the spot below your ear. “All you gotta do is make all the right noise to cover up all that other noise you’re gonna be making. Now shut up.”

His knee nudged roughly against the back of your thigh, signalling for them to spread apart. You could hear your heart in your ears and feel the blood rushing downwards at the same time.

“Bend forward just a little,” Johnny whispered. “It’ll just look like you’re playing.”

It felt as if he had perhaps too much experience in discreetly removing a woman’s panties from underneath her skirt. He ran his hand up the inside of your thigh; when he started rubbing your clit, the cue almost clattered to the gritty pub floor.

Obediently, you tried to play a game you didn’t know, that he knew only too well.

There was a blue square of chalk with a depression on the middle, which you recognised well enough to grab and twist along the tip of the pool cue. Johnny was still sliding his fingers along the slick petals at the apex of your thighs. Each little turn made you want to lean against the billiard table, ass up, and beg.

Would that be the sort of thing you would give him, if it were a room full of strangers and there was no chance of recognition or repercussions? If it was just you two, somewhere far away, and he grasped the back of your neck and told you to do it, would you?

Wouldn’t you?

Hell, he hadn’t even suggested it and it was all you wanted to do, just to give him something tight and wet to fuck and fuck and fuck whilst you screamed in a primal, pleading manner…

He chuckled, finger slipping in and out with ease. “What’s on your mind, Y/N? You’re dripping.”

“Martin,” you whispered harshly. “You’re going to have to shut up and shove your cock in me.”

“That so?”

You could hear his belt jingling and the rustling of fabric. His palms came up over your ass, squeezing tight, as he pushed the back of your skirt up.

“Shit, fuck,” you breathed, and almost forgot it was the white ball you were supposed to strike.

“Huh, look at that,” Johnny said, the tip of his cock pressing against you. “Corner pocket. Too bad it was stripes.”

Someday, you’d have to learn how to play this fucking game. You’d just have to get through THIS fucking game, first.

He plunged in up to the hilt easily. You gripped the pool cue so hard your knuckles turned colour. A few more times, you made furtive attempts to make it seem as if you were playing pool, but the quick, punctuated thrusts felt so good…

“Is this what I made you?” Johnny asked, bruising your hips underneath your skirt. He bit his lip to keep from groaning aloud and fucked you harder. All it did was leave you more wet and wanton than before. “Or were you always this kind of sweet little whore, huh?”

Oh, gracious God above…

“Fucking…” He began to pull you back against him with every shove inside you. “Pretty soon, it won’t matter how quiet you and me are, it wouldn’t matter even if you could play pool worth a shit, if you listen…you can already hear how wet your pussy is. This just how you are, baby? Or did I make you this way? Turn you into the kind of slut that would let someone fuck you out here in front of everyone, nothing but a pool table keeping them from seeing a cock filling you up?”

“You made me like this,” you whispered back, a definite shaking in your voice. You wanted to reach up and squeeze your breasts, rub your thumbs over your nipples–or better yet, beg him to do it…You swallowed in attempt to regain any semblance of control over yourself, but you couldn’t fool yourself, nor could you fool him.

“I wonder…” Johnny bit your neck again and risked the overt gesture of sucking on the indented skin. “What exactly I could get away with doing to you. How far would you let me go, if I didn’t have to keep it together for us both? Fuck, are you really getting wetter? You’re my little bitch now, is that it? Is that what you want?”

“Since Toccoa.” Why deny it? He knew it as well as you, anyway. All the tension in your body was drawing inward to a single point, fast, so fast you didn’t think you’d be able to breathe much longer.

Johnny’s arm hooked around your waist from the front and he seemed to care a little bit less about appearances as he got closer, too.

It had all been building for such a long, long time.

“You know I…” His voice softened. “Fuck, Y/N, you gotta know that I…”

The tension of your hands made the pool cue creak in between them. He wasn’t ready to say it, and you were nervous to hear. “Y-Yeah, John.”

“Good,” he whispered hoarsely, thrusting harder and harder. “I can feel your pussy getting tighter. Tell me it’s mine. Say you’re mine, right goddamn now. now.”

“You know I am, John.” You squeezed the arm that was at your hip, so hard you were sure you were leaving marks on him, too. His lips ghosted against the back of your neck again, and suddenly had to bite the heel of your hand to keep quiet. One burst of colour behind your eyelids and then white. This splendid, aching ecstasy trapped the breath in your lungs, made your heart feel as if it would surrender its last beat.

“Hey,” Johnny said softly, touching your forehead. He was holding you against himself now, and, embarrassingly, you hadn’t realised your lack of response or even that he’d come. “Y/N, say something.”

“I’m okay,” you said with a kind of laugh in your throat. “Sorry, John, I’m fine.”

“Did I really make you come worryingly hard?”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry that you worried, but you have also placed the blame squarely, rightfully on yourself.” Your legs were still shaking, and that was when you realised how weak they were. Finally, you braced your hands against the edge of the pool table, fingertips grazing the felt. “I fucking love this game.”

“I fucking love…” Johnny stretched the silence by swiping the stick onto the floor so he’d have a reason to bend down. You felt the fabric of your panties pull against your pumps. When you stepped out of them, he rose smoothly, coolly, and placed them inside his pocket. He cleared his throat. “So, I guess you’re going to have to come back with me if you think I got something you want back.”

He’d gotten cum on your thighs and stolen your knickers. You smiled. “I guess I’ll have to, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All my fanfiction (a lot of which isn't on ao3) can be found at warmommy.tumblr.com/fanfiction


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